Interlude
by nek0-sama
Summary: The journey one takes to find themselves isn't always easy. It helps to have someone beside you to share the experience. Ryan Evans has that, "someone", in Troy Bolton. His fiance. Sequel to, "Introspective".


**A/N: Well, here it is at long last! I'm **_**so**_** sorry that this took me so long. I got caught up in reading, and another plot idea has invaded my head, and refuses to leave me be until I give it tangible form. Before I get to this other story, however, I figure that I owe all of my dear readers the promised one shot that leads into **_**Introspective**_**'s sequel.**

**Disclaimer: This should be common knowledge by now, but, unfortunately, I have no ownership claims to any of the **_**High School Musical **_**characters, or plot elements relating to that series. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. **

**Warning: This story involves two young men who are very much in love with each other, and profess their love physically. If this bothers you for any reason, you may want to click the back button.**

* * *

_Interlude_

Ryan Evans, the star of the musical currently touring the country, _Raviver_, retires to his dressing room after a long night. He reclines in the chair before his vanity, loosening the silk tie that his character, Benji Taylor, wears in the show's finale. A sigh passes from his lips as he considers the arduous task of removing his make-up and the rest of Benji's costume, which consists of a waistcoat and a highly ornate, sequined-covered jacket with coattails. It was a good show. The rest of the cast, although older than him, congratulated him with pats on the back and offered him drinks. He had to graciously refuse the latter, deciding to turn in early.

Ryan's muscles _ache _from the rigorous dance routines. It's a wonder that he even made it back to his trailer at all, and yet, he loves it. _All _of it. He was born to pour every ounce of his heart and soul into each number. He is _destined _to embody someone else, to bring that someone else's story to vibrant life before hundreds of adoring fans each and every night. He _lives _to bask in the glow of thunderous applause and share the stage with other talents, both learning from them, and possibly teaching them something new in the process. While it is doubtlessly an exhausting career, it is the profession he's always dreamed of having, and he relishes it.

There is a familiar knock on the sturdy door of the chamber that draws him from his reverie and reminds him of the most important upside of his career. Without needing permission, a virile male with side-swept brunette hair that has grown out into tendrils that frame his face over the last year, opens the door and enters. The brunette's sparkling ocean colored eyes take Ryan in, a flawless white smile forming as he opens his pink lipped mouth to greet the actor. "Hey, you."

Ryan returns the smile, his heart instantly warming. The warmth spreads to his worn out muscles, rejuvenating them. It is the effect that other male has always seemed to have on him. "Hey."

"I've got something for you," the brunette continues. Ryan notices, as he always does, that the other male's hand is behind his back, concealing the gift. Unfailingly, the brunette, Troy Bolton, Ryan's fiance' of one year, produces a stunning bouquet of red roses and baby's breath.

_Fiance_. Ryan can scarcely believe that he is able to apply such a powerful word to the beautiful man. Two years prior, such an application would have been an utterly insane delusion, a fantasy of a deranged mind. Troy was the captain of the basketball team at their high school, a highly coveted prize that had been attained by Gabriella Montez, a girl whose pretty face and brown doe eyes were a cover for motives so vile and heinous, Ryan would rather not dwell on them. He knows Troy has managed to put all memories of Gabriella, the beautiful athlete's first girlfriend, behind him.

A bonfire over their Christmas vacation two years prior assisted him with that.

The fact that a friendship formed between the two boys in the first place was unexpected enough. To wish for anything else, Ryan had deemed selfish and disgusting. And yet, _Here we are_. The blond actor gasps, his blue eyes shining as he joyously receives the decadent bouquet. "For _me_? Thank you!"

Troy shrugs his shoulders, as he always does, having heard the words of gratitude countless times. Shutting the dressing room door behind him, he remarks, "You were _incredible _tonight, babe."

"Oh, you!" Ryan flicks his wrist, his naturally pale, porcelain cheeks flushing lightly with the compliment. He beams as he drinks in the floral aroma of the parcel. "Troy, they're _beautiful_."

"Only the best for you, of course."

Shaking his head, Ryan asks himself for what is never the first, and surely not the last time, what he possibly did to be worthy of the affections of someone so _immaculate_. "You don't need to spoil me, you know," he murmurs. He already owes Troy more than the universe for everything the other male has done for him.

"Isn't that what fiances are for?" Troy inclines his head, his hands slipping around Ryan's shoulders to clutch the back of the actor's chair.

Ryan's response is lost as he glances up into the brunette's eyes that catch the glow of the face lights on the vanity, and realizes any argument on the contrary would be useless. Troy is, and always has been, a diehard romantic, raised by a mother who will tolerate no less than a perfect gentleman for a son. It has helped Troy to maintain that gentle, thoughtful disposition instead of picking up the natural barbarism that seems to go hand-in-hand with devoting years to athleticism. Ryan lets his eyes and the smile that plays on his full lips answer where words fail him.

A sudden crick in his neck diverts his attention. He rolls his neck, mindful not to arch back and stretch his vocal cords.

"Need some help?" Troy asks.

"That would be _lovely_."

"Here." Troy offers a hand that Ryan clasps. As he is helped to his feet, the blond's smile persists. He doesn't need to ask where they are going or what this will lead to. He knows.

Sure enough, Troy sits him down on the cushiony sofa near the vanity. Ryan removes his tie and Troy assists him with sliding out of his jacket. He shakes his head in mild disapproval as the brunette carelessly tosses the garments onto the floor, a habit of the other male's, and makes a mental note to himself to properly store them for the next show when they've finished.

Troy's limber, calloused fingers work at unfastening the buttons on the waistcoat next, then, the clean pressed white dress shirt underneath of it. Ryan shivers delightedly as the other males's hands brush against the sensitive, creamy flesh of his torso. No matter how many times he's been touched by those hands, they always produce the same effect, generate the same glorious sensations.

"They stick you in so many layers. It's amazing that you can change costumes so quickly," Troy marvels, chuckling slightly.

"I've had years of practice." Ryan recalls with fondness the shows that he and his twin sister, Sharpay, used to put on for their parents and the household help in their early days. Even then, it was evident that both twins aspired to achieve stardom, and would not allow each other to settle for anything less.

A soft smile graces Troy's face. Soon, the dress shirt joins the rest of Benji Taylor's costume on the floor. "There," he remarks, his blue eyes sparkling triumphantly. He seats himself behind Ryan, straddling the sofa.

The blond sighs inwardly as his hind end brushes against the front of his counterpart's jeans. Strong hands come down on his shoulders, fingers kneading into the stiff muscles. Ryan's shoulders slump, relaxing under the skilled ministration. "How did you learn to be so good with your hands?"

Troy leans in, his breath tickling the back of Ryan's neck. "I've had a lot of help. Basketball builds killer hand muscles. As do _other _activities."

The actor can feel the smile of his lover, and the warmth in his heart continues to spread throughout his bodice. He is shirtless and utterly exhausted, physical vulnerability at its prime, and yet, he never feels more safe than at the end of the day, in a well-furnished dressing room, or their quarters on the tour bus, with the man that he loves. The knowledge of that, coupled with Troy's ability to pin-point every nerve that causes him to lose the control he maintains flawlessly in the company of anyone else, just fires him up.

Troy's hands move up, rubbing at Ryan's poor neck, easing the pain that had seized it moments earlier. "Mm…" Ryan moans lowly, his cheeks heating up again.

"Geez, you really _are _stiff, Ry," Troy marvels. He is now working at the blond's collarbone and shoulders. "I don't know how you manage to make all of that look so effortless."

"That's the art of it all." Ryan smiles. "Never let the audience know your pain as an actor unless it can be utilized as a part of the performance."

Troy shakes his head. "Keeping your head in the game." He would know all about that, of course.

"Exactly." Another low groan escapes Ryan as Troy's hands travel down his back, kneading at his shoulder blades and rib cage. He feels the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up at the pleasurable sensations coursing through his bodily circuitry. Gently, Troy pushes him forward until the blond actor is laying on his stomach, his cheek pressed against the throw pillow to give the brunette better access.

"Of course," Troy murmurs in a low voice. Ryan can clearly envision the smile on the brunette's face. "it comes naturally to you. And, I don't exactly mind the toning it's giving your muscles."

"Really now?" Ryan smirks. "Well, dancing is great for sculpting your butt. Or, so I've heard."

"You've _always_ had a fantastic ass, Ry." As if to accentuate his words, Troy's hand now rests on one of Ryan's curvaceous buttocks.

Withholding a soft grunt, the blond actor turns to face the brunette. "You've always known it," he remarks, his voice low, purposely tantalizing, his eyes darkened with need.

"Oh yeah," Troy agrees, his long eyelashes veiling his eyes. He scoots forward, the ends of their noses brushing together. Mere centimeters are now all that stands between their lips, and Ryan takes it upon himself to seal the gap.

What's one more bit of effort on his part? The reward is more than worth it. Troy's lips are soft, and Ryan pulls the brunette in, eager to have more, to have all of him. He flicks his tongue over Troy's pink lips, giving a soft moan of satisfaction as Troy opens his mouth, permitting Ryan entrance. Warm hands wander south, creeping over the performer's pert rear, and slipping past the fabric of his dress pants and boxers.

Ryan barely suppresses a yelp at the feeling of Troy's fingertips grazing his butt. The warmth of the contact traverses through his body, resulting in a reaction from his pelvis. He thrusts his hips, arching his body, and tangling a hand in the tendrils of Troy's hair.

Troy grunts, attempting to slip his hands in further, but to no avail.

Ryan pulls away, dazed. "Wh-what's wrong?"

Shaking off his own blazer, Troy relays, his tone heavy with disappointment, "Your pants are too tight."

"Well," Ryan quirks a brow, hoping that he's managing a "sexy face", as opposed to an expression that would pull them out of the moment. "I'm sure that can be _easily _remedied, wouldn't you agree?"

The ends of Troy's mouth curl up into a smirk, the light in his eyes indicating his agreement.

Troy returns, and the blond actor draws his fiance in, once more. Ryan slowly works his fingers under the hem of Troy's shirt and slides caressing hands up the brunette male's virile body. When Troy's eyes flutter closed, his tanned face flushing and a moan escaping him, Ryan notes to himself, _That's it. Yes._ He traces the outside of Troy's nipple before withdrawing his hands. "Do you have the entire show memorized, yet?" He murmurs, his eyes sparkling.

"Kind of." Troy smiles.

Ryan gives him a look, imploring without words.

Troy shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. No way." He lifts up his arms, and together, the two of them pull the shirt off over his head. Once the garment is out of the way, Troy leans in, brushing the end of his nose against the blond actor's. "Told you before; it's _your_ show, babe."

"You'd be amazing at it," Ryan assures him, his voice quiet, thick. He brings Troy into another kiss, shivering pleasurably as Troy's lips make their way to his neck, and then down his front, to the waistline of his pants.

"Maybe in some other show," The brunette's breath is warm against Ryan's skin, and the sensation creates goosebumps on the blond's pale flesh.

In the company of anyone else, his pilomotor reflex would give the actor reason to be extremely self-conscious.

It goes unspoken between them, but there is a layer of guilt in Troy's words. Ryan understands where it stems from, but he holds no grudge against the athlete. He never did. He wonders if there is even a single bone in his body capable of feeling anything _but _sweeping, overpowering, all-encompassing _love_ for the beautiful blue-eyed man. _Why would I ever _want _to feel anything else? _He gasps just a bit too loudly as his fly is popped and his pants and boxers are yanked down to his knees in one swift motion that Troy has perfected. He peers down at his fiance, a smile on his face. "You-You never fail at the art of amazement."

Troy shrugs nonchalantly. "It's a gift." A grin tugs at his lips.

_I _love _you_, Ryan's inner voice chants. He grins a little bit, himself, before taking hold of the waistband of Troy's dress pants. He silently expresses gratitude that the brunette decided to forego a belt. The button slides easily out of its hole, and Ryan is sliding the athlete's pants and boxers down his beautifully sculpted thighs in mere seconds.

Troy groans, hissing and biting down on his lower lip as his male endowment springs up, meeting the air in the surrounding room.

Ryan has to bite back a moan of admiration himself at the sight of the column of flesh. It is unquestionably every bit as glorious as the rest of Troy Bolton, and no matter how many times he sees it, no matter how often his tongue has flicked over the shaft, his musical mouth has engulfed it, taking it all, until that wonderful head hits his uvula, as Troy moans loudly and quivers at the contact, no matter how many times his ass has clenched around it in the heat of passion while Troy's hips pivot furiously, and growls and moans and "Ryan! Ryan! Ohhhh, _fuck yes_!" rise out of the brunette's throat, the blond still feels his breath hitch every time.

He recalls his time in high school, the hours spent dreaming about all aspects of Troy Bolton, the risque fantasies involving this particular part of the boy's anatomy. It still hasn't quite sank in that Troy is _his_; that he can have consensual access to any area of Troy that he wishes, and vice versa. Shivering rapturously, Ryan wraps his arms around Troy's waist, bringing himself in closer. "I want you," he communicates, his alto-tenor pitch lowered in an attempt to make it sound as seductive and sexy as he can hope to.

"Want you, too." Troy whispers.

"I-Is that okay, here?" Ryan struggles to force his brain continue to process thoughts, and create words, sentences, as their dicks meet. He instinctively begins grinding against Troy, heat pooling in his stomach and concentrating right at the tip of his own cock, pulsating, throbbing in an intensely pleasant way. _Yes. Yes. Yes! _

Troy lets out an attempt at a chuckle that is swallowed by a gasp. He hisses again, his blue eyes dark with desperation and his hips displaying eagerness to get going. "Who cares if it isn't?"

Those simple words are like a pebble tossed into a pond. They reverberate throughout Ryan's body, affecting his heart and especially his cock. He loves Troy, loves him so _fucking much_. Troy's thumbs are tracing those heavenly circles on the ridges of the blond's prominent pelvis bone, and Ryan's need is too much to contain. He fears he'll burst if he doesn't get what every nerve inside of him is screaming out for. "I need you inside of me Troy. Right _now_."

"A…" Troy tries for a laugh again. He's so _hard_. Ryan can read it on Troy's flushed tanned face, the beads of sweat forming under his bangs, the heated flush on his cheeks and the just visible freckles on the bridge of his nose, the gleam in his ocean blue eyes. He wants this, too, _needs _this, just as badly. "As you wish, honey."

Ryan lies back, spreading himself wide just for Troy. All for Troy and no one else. When Troy enters him, he's filled with bliss so intense, it causes his toes to curl.

In an alternate reality, perhaps there is a Ryan Evans who never got his chance with Troy Bolton, and, _if _this other Ryan Evans managed to become a star without Troy's encouragement driving him onward, he has lust binges with older men and pretty choir boys; would-be performers looking to make a name for themselves by achieving a good word with an accomplished young actor. Because this Ryan Evans means to fill a void in his life, and, for a brief while, those boys and experienced older men give him the attention that he craves.

If he's lucky, some of them will have blue eyes, allowing him to pretend.

After those few hours of passion, those pretty boys and men would depart, possibly stammering out a flushed, "Thank you", or maybe, a "Thanks for the fuck". Or, perhaps these backstage lovers will only have time to call back, "Hey, make sure you put in a good word for me in L.A., or on Broadway". Then, this hypothetical Ryan Evans is left sticky, exhausted, and empty, with no one to hold him, no strong chest to bury his face into so he can feel safe after exposing so much of himself to another. He'd have no one there to whisper sweet nothings into his ear until he drifts off into a contented sleep, and no peacefully sleeping face, or smile to wake up into the next morning.

Maybe, this Ryan Evans has a "lover" in every town he's traveled to thus far in his tour. Or, perhaps, he's never been touched by anyone. _Ever_. True, he has his cast mates to keep him company on the bus, but he still longs for that "something" that people write numerous songs, poems, and books about. That "something" that supposedly only exists in fiction...

But, the Ryan Evans in this reality, the Ryan Evans that, against all odds, has Troy Bolton, calls out the name of his "someone special", his voice nearly cracking with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and every emotion that Troy generates within him. He clings tightly to Troy, urgently pleading the brunette to go "deeper", because he needs to feel him. _All_ of him.

And Troy understands. Without Ryan, he would be miserable, as well. His life would be _unbearable_, kept on a short leash by a girlfriend who got up to who knows what while 32.7 miles away from him. A girlfriend who would continue to lay all of the blame on him when things went wrong. A girlfriend who'd put Troy's anxieties to rest by assuring him that she loved him, even while her actions served as a direct contradiction. A girlfriend who would one day just up and leave him for someone else without so much as a, "goodbye"…

After they've reached climax, Troy draws him into an embrace. Tears prick momentarily at Ryan's eyes. Troy responds by assuring him, "Hey, Ry. Baby, it's all right. I'm here." He kisses Ryan's smooth cheeks, and the knuckle above where the silver band fits snugly on the blond's ring finger, before interlacing his fingers with Ryan's so that the actor can see the pair of matching bands that bind them to each other.

"I'm _so _glad that you are,", Ryan replies. He sniffles softly, his worries evaporating into thin air under the pure love in Troy's ocean blue eyes. A smile tugs at his slightly quavering lips, and it's returned whole-heartedly by the brunette.

No more needs to be said. Their lips meet in a gentle kiss, and Ryan slips off into a tranquil slumber in Troy's embrace.

They are awoken some time later by Scotty Jacobs, a member of the stage crew, their roommate, and the driver of their bus, rapping at the door. "Up, and at 'em, guys. Hate to take you out of your zenith nap, but you can't crash here. We've gotta get going."

Ryan sits upright almost reflexively. Troy lets out a grunt, and requires a gentle nudge and a sweetly murmured, "Come on, Troy. We have to go," before he joins the blond. He rubs the sleep from his eyes, his shaggy hair mussed.

As he stretches, his shoulder popping, Troy mutters, "Geez. That couch was about as comfortable as Chad's basement floor."

Ryan gives him an empathetic look, his own arm a bit sore, even though he's never experienced the apparently harrowing ordeal of camping out on the floor in Chad Danforth's basement. "I'll buy you ice-cream to make it up to you," he offers.

"A huge hot fudge sundae with cherries on top?" Troy's eyes gleam mischievously. He's well aware of both Ryan's sweet tooth, and the blond's self-consciousness about his weight. He always insists that there's no reason for Ryan to be so concerned about his waistline, especially with a lifestyle that requires nearly constant movement.

Ryan's arguments that he "doesn't have [Troy's] metabolism", "and that he doesn't get nearly as much exercise as his fiance", never turn the discussion in his favor. He shakes his head good-humoredly. "You know that I can't say "no", to you."

- { / * \} -

Ryan ends up buying ice cream for the six occupants of their bus. He says that it's his treat. Troy offers to pay him back, but Ryan declines. "My money is your money, right?"

"Right." Troy smiles dotingly, the anxiousness about his expression evaporating.

He and Ryan share the sundae, and then goof off, dancing around in the pretty much vacant parking lot, to the amusement of their fellow passengers. Sure, it's fun, and dancing with Troy, who is far more skilled on his feet than he gives himself credit for, is always invigorating.

But, Ryan knows of the other reason for it. Because, he's well aware that Troy knows him all too well. _And Troy is perfect… _he adds silently to himself as laughs softly and buries his face in the brunette's shoulder.

- { / * \} -

When Ryan rouses the next morning, he checks his phone to find 10 voice mails from Sharpay. He rolls his eyes, figuring that the messages are all either the blonde girl gushing about the perks of her well-deserved fame, her relationship with Peyton Leverett, the somewhat creepy NYU student, or questions about when Ryan will be back in New York. He tells himself that he'll get around to replying later, as, at the moment, he doesn't feel up to reminding her, yet again, that he still has five months left of his tour before his next break. Besides, with the 3 hour time zone difference in California, he doesn't want to wake her, or take the risk of disturbing her while she's in the middle of something. Particularly if it involves Peyton.

_I know what common courtesy is, and, well, it's an unpleasant experience for _both_ parties to call during coitus_.

The bus is stopped, and Scotty's form lies face down on his bed, one arm dangling over the edge as he snores. Ryan's lips quirk up in a smile at the sight. Ryan slowly gets off of his own bed, so as not to wake up Troy, who is sleeping contentedly beside him, and retrieves his laptop. He logs onto Skype to find, just as he expected, Kelsi is online. The two have a brief messaging session.

Kelsi fills him in on how her studies are going. She's one of the best in her composition class. Ryan informs her that that isn't a surprise. Her relationship with Scot, one of Ryan and Troy's neighbors from across the hall in their apartment in New York, is still going strong. He takes her out for dinner every Saturday, and on Fridays, Kelsi gets to pick the activity. He's ,"easy for her to talk to", and they have this "certain level of understanding" regarding each other and their life passions. Scot is a painter. It makes sense that he can relate to Kelsi.

Ryan is incredibly happy for her. _She deserves this after everything that I put her through. _The humiliation of trying to kiss your gay prom date, and being rejected during your favorite song at the dance which is made out to be the most meaningful event of an adolescent's high school career, would be enough to upset anyone for quite some time. He continues to message Kelsi, teasing her gently until the girl has to leave for her morning classes.

He bids her farewell, and then finds that Marceline, Scot's roommate and best friend, is online.

Bonjour, doll face. ;) She greets him.

_Good morning_. He returns.

I was out late. I just got back in. 

_I hope that you had fun?_

Of course! It's nice not to be tied down in a relationship. 

He waits while she types.

At least for now. 

A sympathetic smile tugs at Ryan's lips, and he feels a slight pang in his chest. Much like Troy's relationship didn't work out when he discovered the real Gabriella, Marceline quickly ended things with her ex, Victor Rodriguez, when his true colors proved him to be a homophobe who was all-too willing to lend a hand to gay bashing. The blond bites down on his lip, the memory of Victor's hands clenched tight around his wrists as repeated blows were landed on his torso, seizes him. He shakes it off, his body giving a slight tremor. Marceline is far better off without Victor.

_The right someone for you is out there. You'll find them. _

I know I will. When I'm good and ready. :)

All of the negative feelings dissipate. Her confidence is incredibly admirable, and Ryan wishes he had even a fraction of it back in high school. Marceline is like Troy in a lot of ways. It's hard not to imagine people flocking for the chance to be with her. It's just a matter of locating the person who will treat her right, and understand her, when she's ready for them to.

_Absolutely. _He replies.

- { / * \} -

"Fuck! Shit, no no no! Fuck!"

"_Scotty_! Man!" A voice hisses.

Ryan's eyes snap open, and he recognizes the voice as Troy's. He stretches, his legs cracking. In the background, he can pick up the looping audio track of a video game menu screen.

"I told you to keep your voice down. Now, you woke up Ryan." Troy's tone is a mixture of playful scolding, and honest dismay. He scoots toward the blond on the bed, looking down with an apologetic light in his blue eyes. "I'm sorry, Ry."

"Yeah, sorry." Scotty echoes, scratching at the back of his neck.

"It's all right," Ryan murmurs. He begins to sit up and finds Troy's hand extended to him. He takes hold of the limb, allowing it to assist him in righting himself. "What time is it?" He inquires, rubbing at his eyes.

Troy glances down at his wrist, which lacks a watch, as it always has. "Um…"

"A little after nine." The answer comes from Scotty. He's most likely looked to the alarm clock that rests on a tiny shelf beside his cot.

"Sheila wanted me to go shopping with her," Ryan murmurs, unsure if he's reminding himself, or informing his fiance and their roommate. Sheila Morales is the girlfriend of Ryan's cast mate, Brad Sullivan. The blond found Sheila quite easy to talk to, and bonded with her rather quickly over a love of snarking at terrible, cliche-ridden romance novels and movies. They made plans two nights ago to go shopping for hats. Despite his vast and growing collection of headwear, this is a venture that Ryan will not refuse. He gets quickly to his feet. "Curtain call is at noon."

As Troy watches the smaller blond, his eyes light up with understanding. He, too, jumps up. "I'll have your costume and props and stuff all gathered up by then."

Ryan turns to Troy, a soft smile on his lips. He takes in the brunette's appearance; sleep-mussed hair, glowing ocean colored eyes, and the blond feels his heart swell. "Thank you. You're the best!" He gives Troy a lingering kiss on the cheek.

"Well… yeah." Troy half-shrugs, a bashful smile tugging at the ends of his mouth.

Across the rather small room, there is the sound of a throat being cleared. They both look up to find Scotty staring with the slightest of smirks curling the ends of his lips.

Ryan's gaze flits back to Troy's face, expressing the need to move apart. His cheeks heat up.

"Oh, no! Don't mind me!" Scotty says, the smirk not leaving his face. "Please, continue."

"Dick!" Troy steps a safe distance away from the smaller blond, and gives Scotty a playful shove, letting out a laugh as he does so.

Ryan shakes his head, amused. He's grateful that Troy has managed to find someone to bond with, as well, during their long stay with the troupe. Even though the brunette has confessed to his fiance that he grew uncomfortable being forced into the spotlight throughout his high school career, and is perfectly content to let someone else receive the fame that they deserve, especially since that "someone else", happens to be the love of his life, the thought has crossed Ryan's mind more than once that this entire experience has to be even a_ little_ bit awkward for Troy.

Luckily, Scotty is there to keep Troy company when he's unable to contact his friends back in New York City and Albuquerque. All of the performers in the Magniloquent Roving Theater troupe have been nothing but welcoming to Troy, which never fails at warming Ryan's heart.

All his life, Troy Bolton has yearned for people to accept him as _Troy_, and not East High School's "basketball guy". _It seems that out here, away from East High and our friends from high school, his wish is finally coming true. _The thought brings the actor immeasurable joy.

- { / * \} -

After a nice breakfast with the rest of their bus-mates, Ryan and Sheila depart, Troy, and Maxine Ross, the older woman who plays Benji's mother, calling after them to be careful. They both promise that they will be. Assault from rabid fans is a always an unpleasant possibility, but Ryan is sure that something as a simple as an outing to a store won't end in disaster.

He is proven right. A group of girls manages to recognize him, and they ask politely for an autograph. He happily obliges, his insides quivering in sheer delight. Back in the halls of East High, during the days when people would pull their year books away from his waiting pen tip, giving away his signature to adoring fans was just a fantasy. Now, it's happening, and he wouldn't change it for the world.

Sheila taps his shoulder once the girls are gone. "You're pretty popular with the girls, huh?" Her brown eyes sparkle, matching the smile on her face. The slight crease in her forehead, however, betrays a darker emotion.

The jubilant smile slips a bit from his own face. "Yeah. You could say that." He waits for her to say more, a chill creeping down his spine.

"Hey," she quickly amends, giving him a reassuring smile and squeezing his shoulder, "don't worry. That's not entirely a bad thing."

It isn't.

But… at the same time, he puts his sunglasses on, and walks briskly back toward the tour bus. He's more than aware of the existence of Twitter. He's read some of the things that "fans" have typed to celebrities; people who are just doing their jobs, and trying to make a living with their profession. He swallows hard, grateful for the body guards Margaret Chapman, the director of the production, employed.

- { / * \} -

By the time the matinee performance has ended, the show having received an enthusiastic round of applause from the comparatively small afternoon crowd, Ryan's unease has all but completely dissolved. There are several hours to kill before the next show, and after praising the blond's performance, as Troy always does, informing Ryan how proud of him he is, to which the blond shyly ducks his head, biting his lip, as he always does, the two of them approach the polished black baby grand piano in the orchestra pit.

"You ready to continue your piano lesson?" Ryan asks with a slight flutter of his eyelashes as he takes a seat on the bench.

"Let's do it," Troy replies, nodding. He plops down beside the petite actor with no hesitation. His blue eyes gleam with much more confidence than they've had in any of his previous lessons.

"Alrighty." Ryan lifts his hands to the keys, and his fingers begin playing the intro with graceful expertise. He watches from the corner of his eye as Troy's back straightens while he stares ahead, waiting for his cue. Ryan's eyes slide to Troy's, and the two of them raise their voices, Ryan's full, lilting alto-tenor taking the harmony while Troy's brassy tenor-baritone takes up the melody.

_You say that I'm_

_ Messing with your head_

_All because I was_

_ Making out with your friend_

_ Love hurts, whether it's_

_ Right or wrong_

_ I can't stop_

_ 'Cause I'm having too much fun_

_ Yeah_, Troy vocalizes. His voice has strengthened quite a bit over the years, and Ryan couldn't be more proud.

He gives an encouraging nod, and Troy swallows, his eyes narrowing with concentration as he moves his hands from his lap to the monochromatic keys. He's mastered this part, the higher notes he plays on his end melding perfectly into the fluid melody Ryan is turning out on the left side of the instrument.

They catch each other's eyes. Ryan smiles softly, encouragingly, and Troy reciprocates.

_You're on your knees_

_ Beggin' please,_

_ "Stay with me!" _

_ But, honestly,_

_ I just need to be _

_ A little crazy_

Their voices increase in dynamic until they're belting out the chorus with carefree gusto.

_ All my life, I've been good_

_ But now,_

_ Whoa_

_ I'm thinkin' _

_ "What the hell?"_

_ All I want is _

_ To mess around_

_ And I_

_ Don't really care about_

_ If you love me_

_ If you hate me_

_ You can't save me_

_ Baby, baby_

_ All my life, I've been good_

_ But now,_

_ Whoa_

_ I'm thinkin' _

_ "What the hell?"_

For the instrumental, they take turns gliding their hands across the keys, and playing notes on each other's ends of the instrument. Troy falters once or twice, but Ryan's smile proves effective at keeping him going with heightened spirits.

Ryan catches the eye of some of the chorus girls, and he looks to Troy. The brunette gives a nod, calling the girls over where they gather around the glossy piano. They're back in well-versed territory of the piece.

_So what if I go out_

_ On a million dates?_

_ You never call, _

_ Or listen to me, anyway_

_ I'd rather rage_

_ Than sit around and wait all day!_

_ Don't get me wrong, _

_ I just need some time to play_

_ Yeah_

_ You're on your knees_

_ Beggin' please,_

_ "Stay with me!"_

_ But, honestly,_

_ I just need to be _

_ A little crazy!_

_ Crazy! _Mackenzie, one of the lead chorus girls, echoes. Sheila, Brad, and Scotty enter from backstage, and, having recognized the song, Sheila makes her way toward the piano as well, tugging a flush-faced but jovial Brad in her wake.

Ryan and Troy exchange matching looks of exuberance before launching into the chorus of the song once more, this time, with several new female voices, and the lower timbres of both Brad and Scotty, accompanying them.

_All my life, I've been good_

_ But, now,_

_ Whoa_

_ I'm thinkin'_

_ "What the hell?"_

_ All I want is _

_ To mess around_

_ And I _

_ Don't really care about_

_ If you love me_

_ If you hate me_

_ You can't save me_

_ Baby, baby_

_ All my life, I've been good_

_ But, now,_

_ Whoa_

_ I'm thinkin'_

_ "What the hell?"_

_ La la la_

_ La la la la la_, Ryan vocalizes softly, solo.

Troy joins him, their voices harmonizing.

_Whoa, whoa_

Mackenzie leads everyone else in clapping out the beat of the song while Ryan and Troy's singing soars out over top of the sounds of patting against clothed thighs, and palms slapping together, that echo throughout the auditorium.

_La la la_

_ La la la la la_

_ Whoa, whoa_

_ You say, that I'm _

_ Messing with your head, boy_

_ I like messing in your bed, yeah_

_ I like messing with your head! _The two males pull their fingers from the keys of the piano, and look to each other. The smile on Troy's face is radiant, everything about his expression indicating comfort and bliss. No one's there to tell him who to be, or what to do.

And Ryan couldn't be happier as the exclamation rises out of him:_ Yeah!_

He energetically kicks back in with the piano melody, Troy following suite,

_All my life, I've been good_

_ But now_

_ Whoa_

_ I'm thinkin'_

_ "What the hell?"_

_ All my life, _

_ I've been good_

_ But now_

_ Whoa! _The dynamic of Ryan and Troy's and everyone's voices increases, clearly building up toward a, "big finish".

_ Yeah, _

_ All my life, I've been good_

_ But now_

_ Whoa_

_ I'm thinkin'_

_ "What the hell?"_

_ All I want is _

_ To mess around_

_ And I _

_ Don't really care about_

_ If you love me_

_ If you hate me_

_ You can't save me_

_ Baby, baby_

_ All my life, I've been good_

_ But now,_

_ Whoa, I'm thinkin'_

_ "What the hell?"_

The voices of the rest of the group drop out. Ryan croons softly, nearly humming: _La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la_

Troy's tenor baritone joins in, this time, in unison, for the last bit of the song.

_La, la, la, la, la, la, la_

That smile that causes Ryan to feel as though his body is hovering a few feet above the earth is still decorating Troy's face. Ryan mirrors it with a breathless grin that threatens to split his own countenance.

Later that night, during the evening performance of _Raviver_, when Ryan catches Troy mouthing the dialogue line for line, and the songs word for word, his expression changing appropriately to fit the mood of the scenes, almost as if Troy, himself, is unaware of the movements of his facial muscles, that feeling of joy swells. Ryan has to fight to reel it in so that he doesn't break into a grin during one of Ray Harland, the tall, dark-haired man who plays the antagonist in the show's, monologues.

- { / * \} -

After a meal lovingly made by Ryan, the pair flop down onto their bed. Ryan checks his e-mail and lets out a sigh. The messages from his sister number well into the double digits. He wonders to himself how, exactly, she's able to find the time to send him so many e-mails when she has her own career, and relationship to keep her busy. The thought then occurs to him, _That's right._ _She has a new personal assistant now. _It was only a matter of time, after all, before Sharpay Evans procured herself a new adulation-stricken fangirl or fanboy to tend to her every whim. He gives a good-natured roll of his eyes, starting a bit as a mug appears before him.

"Here's your tea," Troy announces.

"Thank you." Ryan feels his features, and all of his other muscles, soften. He carefully takes hold of the mug and blows on the dark, steaming liquid sitting inside of it before turning to plant a kiss on Troy's lips.

"No problem." Troy's voice is soft as he replies. His eyes pass over Ryan's face and a smile begins curling up the ends of his pink-lipped mouth.

"What is it?" Ryan inquires, catching Troy's smile as if the action of pulling up one's facial muscles to express happiness could actually be transferred from one person to another.

"I'm just thinking." Troy hesitates for a moment, and then that fierce, lively glimmer is back in his eyes. "I mean, we're _engaged_."

"Yeah. It's," Ryan starts, the weight of that word having a significant effect on him from head to foot, "pretty crazy."

"Hey, come on. It's not crazy." Troy's brows knit together in concern. He gives Ryan an affectionate nudge, his inflection perfectly sincere. When the gesture causes a the hints of a smile to form on the edges of the petite actor's mouth, Troy goes on,"What _was _crazy, though, was how your sister reacted to the news."

The weight of the term, "engaged", is relieved by amusement. A laugh escapes the blond. "How could we forget that?" Shortly after Troy's initial proposal, which had taken Ryan completely by surprise, Sharpay had "requested" that the pair join her and Peyton for a double date at an exquisite restaurant.

Peyton had shown up, his arm linked with Sharpay's and a wide grin on his face. Apparently, this was his first technical "date", with the female Evans twin. His excitement, while understandable, still incited a raising of the eyebrows, and the exchanging of more than a few odd looks between Ryan and Troy.

The dinner had gone relatively well, aside from an off-putting comment or two from the Evans princess and her beau. Troy had even confided in Ryan sometime afterwards that this particular dinner date turned out infinitely better than the last dinner date he'd sat at the table with both of the Evans twins for. Then, Ryan and Troy had linked hands, Ryan beginning with, "Troy and I have an announcement to make…"

"Sharpay absolutely _flipped_! She totally snapped her cap!" Troy inputs, an impish smirk on his face.

Laughter continues to bubble inside of Ryan at the memory, until it's difficult to contain his signature high-pitched giggles. "The waiters came rushing over, thinking that the calamari on her plate was still putting up a fight!"

They both crack up, the recount dissolving into laughter.

Once he regains his composure, Ryan resumes, "When Sharpay lets out one of her ear-shattering shrieks, most people cover their ears, or at least wince. Peyton just smiles."

"I'm telling you, Ry. That dude creeps me out."

The bus hits some sort of bump, jarring everyone. Troy extends an arm to prevent Ryan from falling forward. Ryan shoots the brunette a grateful look.

"Sorry, guys!" Scotty calls out over the intercom. "There was a massive pothole, and I spotted it too late."

Troy shakes his head, his widened eyes diluting. "Shit." He brushes his hair back into place with his hand.

Ryan feels _extraordinarily_ lucky that he didn't wind up with a lapful of steaming hot tea. He breathes, in, out, then turns when he feels Troy's eyes on him.

"You okay?"

The blond actor gives a nod. "Fine." He cautiously brings the mug to his lips, and takes a sip of the tea. Troy makes it exactly the way that Ryan likes it; not too bitter, and not too sweet. Ryan chews the inside of his mouth for a second or two. "You know," he starts, "you're right about Peyton being a little bit unnerving. But, he _does_ make my sister happy." His eyes slide to Troy's. "In the end, that's what really matters, right?"

Troy's expression says everything.

- { / * \} -

Over the next few weeks, when there is time between shows, Troy seizes the opportunity to nearly teach Ryan how to swim, how to almost surf, and how to perform a trick or two on a skateboard. Ryan maintains his balance without much of a struggle, but Troy is on standby, just to ensure that no incidents- or injuries, occur. Brad, Scotty, and several of the other men in the troupe, join Troy for a four-on-four basketball game a couple of times. When the other guys aren't free, Troy becomes Ryan's instructor, demonstrating, as the brunette himself phrases it, "an impenetrable defensive technique". The look of pride that Troy wears when Ryan pulls off the defense technique, or comes close to achieving a breaststroke, is almost as wonderful as Troy sweeping him up into a tight, celebratory hug.

Run-ins with fans take place, as well. Troy smiles warmly as Ryan signs autographs, or pauses for pictures.

When paparazzi show up, however, Troy pulls Ryan into his chest, shielding him from the flashing and the lenses. Ryan still recalls how Troy had stammered nervously under the insistent questioning of the disrespectful scumbags in their first encounter. Questions were fired at them such as, "How often do you two have sex?", "Are you really together, or is it all a publicity stunt?", and, "What's an obviously heterosexual guy like you doing with a guy who's so obviously gay? Is it all for the money and fame? Come on, I'm sure you could get yourself a hot young lady!"

It had been up to Ryan to prompt sweetly, "Why do you want to know? Are you jealous?", and then to signal to the brunette to ignore the interrogation and just walk away.

Troy seems to have gotten the hang of dealing with these unscrupulous types, now. As charismatically as possible, he slaps on a smile and replies, "Um, we actually have better things to do than answer these questions. Don't you?"

Before another camera can be shoved into their faces, Cal, the head of security for the Magniloquent Roving Theater, places himself between the pair and the swarm. This allows Troy and Ryan to board the bus safely. Cal swiftly and easily handles the paparazzi, and Ryan makes a mental note to thank the man by treating him to a beer, or something, the first chance that he gets.

- { / * \} -

Troy holds his mouth open, letting Ryan feed him chicken and broccoli Chinese take-out from the end of a pair of chopsticks. Ryan lies on his side, pouring over _The Picture of Dorian Gray, _and Troy sits with his legs crossed, working on a college assignment from Ryan's laptop. He's managed to surpass his peers academically by working diligently through the past summer break.

Ryan turns the page, then looks over when a sigh passes from Troy's lips. "How's it coming along?"

"Do you have any idea how many words are in a business document?"

"Over ten thousand?" Ryan offers.

Troy shakes his head, amused. "Actually, that's probably not too far off." He cracks his knuckles, wearing a pained expression, and Ryan shoots him a pitying stare.

As the blond picks up another piece of chicken to feed the brunette, someone raps at the door to their room on the tour bus.

"Hey, guys?" Brad Sullivan ventures timidly, his voice muffled by the wooden barrier.

"Yeah?" Both Ryan and Troy call over.

"It's open," Ryan adds, when there is no response.

Brad enters the room, his face lightly flushed. "Can I borrow your laptop for a few minutes, Ryan? My mom just texted me, and she wants to talk to me over webcam."

Ryan turns to Troy, searching the taller male's face for an indication. When Troy's eyes light with comprehension, they turn simultaneously and reply, "Oh, yeah!"

"Go right ahead!" The inflection is similar to that of a chirp as it comes from the blond's mouth.

Troy picks the light blue Mac Book Pro up and hands it over. "My eyes need a break from staring at words on a screen, anyway."

"Cool." Brad smiles, giving a nod. "Thank you."

"No problem," Ryan says with a smile.

Shortly after Brad departs with the computer, the pair finish off their dinner, and head toward the exit of the bus. It's quite clear from Troy's expression that he has a plan in mind. Instead of pausing to question it, Ryan goes along with the brunette, sure that whatever Troy intends to do will be fun. Despite the fact that the troupe has parked for the night in one of the desert regions of the Golden State.

While Troy's, "fun", involves lying back on the sand, an action which will more than likely result in the ruining of the material of Ryan's jeans, the blond utters no complaints. He lowers himself, resting his head against Troy's arm.

Until Troy murmurs, "Ry."

"Hm?"

Troy clears his throat, nodding toward the light-blue fedora that is perched askew on the actor's head.

"Oh. Right." Ryan laughs softly and removes the hat. He ensures that it is set safely on a rock, away from the sand, before returning to nestle into Troy's shoulder. On the way, he catches sight of an affectionate smile playing on his fiance's lips.

This smile engenders a fizziness in Ryan's stomach that makes the performer feel almost effervescent. Together, they stare up into the sky, taking in the thousands, perhaps millions, or maybe even more, stars that decorate the night sky.

"It's _amazing_ how many stars you can see out here!"

"Yeah," Ryan affirms, reasoning that he, himself, is nearly as awestruck as Troy. Especially if he takes the fact that his jaw has just dropped open into consideration. "_Wow_."

"You'd never see this many stars in New York." The astonishment and wonder to Troy's voice has Ryan's heart palpitating just a bit.

Ryan nods. A thought occurs to him, and he turns to face Troy. "We don't have to live in New York forever."

Troy's eyes slide to him. "I know," he says softly.

Wind blows, and a chill sets in. The petite blond shivers, regretting that he did not stop to grab a jacket, first. _I should have known better!_ He chastises himself. Ryan is more than aware, however, that he needn't worry for long about the invasive night air. He finds himself being drawn into the warmth of Troy's bodice by the brunette's sinewy arms, exactly as he expected. His breath hitches for a moment, and then, his lips are on Troy's. Or, Troy's lips are on his. Ryan sighs deeply, contentedly, as he feels Troy's mouth open, Troy's tongue entering, dancing with Ryan's own tongue, flicking over Ryan's prominent upper front teeth.

A sensation of euphoria circulates the length of his entire body when Troy lets out a soft grunt as Ryan's teeth gently nip at the brunette's full lower lip. Those warm hands are running up and down, up and down the blond's backside, and he shivers again.

Ryan moans lowly, twining his fingers in the silky locks of Troy's hair, and massaging the virile male's scalp. Their bodies remain entangled for some time, Ryan's knee finding its way between Troy's legs, where it presses lightly against the brunette's groin.

Troy gasps, pulling away. His eyelashes veil his eyes as he breathes, his inhalations and exhalations causing his chest to brush against Ryan's. After a moment, he returns, nuzzling his nose against the actor's pale one.

Warmth fills the entirety of Ryan's body until he's left with a tingling feeling.

"Do you want to finish this inside?" Troy murmurs. His blue eyes glow underneath of his long lashes.

"You know it," Ryan answers him with what feels like a dopey smile.

A grin works its way across Troy's face, and he hoists himself up, offering a hand that Ryan accepts, before they half-skip, half-run back to the bus.

- { / * \} -

Margaret Chapman, the director of _Raviver_, paces around the front of the house of the Pantages Theater in Los Angeles. She holds a phone to her ear, carrying on a conversation with a journalist from _Rolling Stone Magazine_ who has requested an interview with the show's star. Margaret, and Anthony Bishop, her partner, and brother-in-law, take up the roles of publicists and agents for the actors in the troupe who have yet to acquire them. One of Margaret's rules is that no one gets to any of her actors without going through her.

She halts, folding one of her arms across her chest. While she establishes the date and time of the interview, Ryan jots the information down, making sure to also lock it away mentally. He soon finds himself tuning out the rest of the confabulation, however, when Troy's voice reaches his ear. The brunette is in the middle of acting out one of the musical's more dramatic scenes with Mackenzie and Maxine in the right section of the house.

It takes a moment for him to feel the pair of blue eyes on him, but Troy looks up, and takes himself out of the role of Benji Taylor long enough to direct a wave and a smile that mirrors Ryan's own the blond's way.

Ryan sits back in his seat, trying to focus in order to read Neil Gaiman's _Smoke and Mirrors_, but his mind is elsewhere. His thoughts are on his responses to potential questions for the interview, one question in particular being, "Are you happy with your life right now?"

He knows that he will reply with no hesitation, "Absolutely".

- { / * \} -

**A/N: The version of, "What The Hell", that Ryan and Troy perform is a combination of Avril Lavigne's arrangement of the song, and the arrangement made by Michael Henry and Justin Robinett. The video of the aforementioned men performing the song inspired me to have Ryan and Troy sing it, and that video can be found here: watch?v=lLKHkzy3InY**

**Until next time, stay safe and take care. **


End file.
